


Communions in the Crypt

by Baamon5evr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Extended Scene, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is King in the North, One-Sided Relationship, POV Jon Snow, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Season/Series 07, but that's just Baelish in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baamon5evr/pseuds/Baamon5evr
Summary: Jon takes a moment out of his day to visit his dead loved ones but Baelish interrupts with a proposal that does not make him happy.[Extension of the Jon and Baelish scene in 7x02]





	Communions in the Crypt

**Author's Note:**

> A re-write of the scene between Jon and Baelish in the crypts in episode 7x02, because I wanted the interaction to be longer. Canon is messed with a bit in this one-shot so Jon does not know about Daenerys' letter yet.  
> Also, I wanted to flesh out some of the aspects of worship under the Old Gods, specifically honoring the dead.

Tangentially related to "[Conversations in the Crypt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921787)".

* * *

When Jon was younger, the crypts terrified him. Robb liked to drag him down there to play away from their younger siblings, who often pestered Robb or Jon or both to play with them. Jon would feel like the statues of the old Kings of Winter were staring down at him with judgment and found him wanting because they knew the truth about him, that he was a stain on the honor of House Stark. He would have nightmares about them coming for him, chasing him while he was left down there all alone.

 _‘You don't belong here.’_ They would say.

As a child, he always feared that one night one of the Kings of Winter would become living stone so that they could snatch his life from him for trespassing in their resting place. Perhaps King Brandon, who founded House Stark, or King Harlon, who helped to destroy his cousins, the Greystarks, and would hardly flinch at killing a bastard boy, or King Theon, the Hungry Wolf, who might have been as mad as he was ambitious and tactical. Jon was not a child anymore. He and death had a kinship nowadays that went far beyond his childhood fears and transcended anything a night terror could throw his way. Beyond his death and resurrection continually hanging over him and making itself known to him through the crescent-shaped stab wounds on his abdomen, the crypts were now somewhere he visited frequently. They were a place of peace for him, of familial communion, the last place where he could see Robb, or Rickon or their father, the only place where he could talk to them.

He entered the crypts wearily. Hours of going back and forth with the lords of the North and the Lords Declarant of the Vale, who all wanted one thing or another from him, was exhausting. It was more tiring than being Lord Commander ever was. He wanted to fall into bed already, and it was only midday. It didn't help that his sleep was often fitful on the best of nights. He usually stayed up late worrying. Worrying about defending the North from the Night King and Cersei Lannister, worrying about protecting Sansa and worrying about Bran and Arya and where they were in the world, whether they were safe, if they had shelter, clothes on their backs, food in their bellies, someone or something to defend them. He had settled into weekly visits to the crypts and he would lay his worries at his brother's feet like he could've when he was still living. It helped.

The torches were lit when he reached his immediate family's resting place with his satchel over his shoulder, holding the offerings he had brought with him to honor his dead. He reached his grandfather, Rickard, first. His statue betrayed a stoicism and sternness wrapped in quiet dignity that reminded Jon of his father and he wondered how alike they were. Lord Wyman Manderly knew him and would speak about him to Jon sometimes (mostly when he was trying to get something out of Jon). According to the obese lord, his grandfather was smart, understanding and ambitious. Jon pulled a quill out of his satchel and placed it in the iron offering bowl at his grandfather's feet before pulling out a candle, lighting it on the torch and then using it to set the quill afire so the it would make its way to Lord Rickard in the afterlife.

He moved on to his uncle, Brandon. Father never spoke of him but Uncle Benjen did sometimes.

_'Hot-headed, ill-tempered and too carefree for the duties he had ahead of him. He was protective of his family though.'_

Jon placed a wooden dagger in the offering bowl at his feet before using the same candle to burn the wood and send it to his uncle in his afterlife.

His aunt, Lyanna, was resting next to her brother. Jon didn't know much of anything about her besides what everyone knew: Prince Rhaegar kidnapped and raped her. His father loved her very much and so he never spoke of her, it hurt him too much. Jon could understand. He didn't want to talk about Robb to anyone besides Sansa, but by virtue of Robb being his predecessor he didn't have as much choice in the matter. The only thing Jon did know was that winter roses were his aunt's favorite flower. He placed a bundle along with lavender in the bowl as well as one that had recently bloomed in the newly renovated glass gardens in her upturned hand and set them ablaze, the aroma quickly filling his nostrils along with the smell of burning wax.

He reached his father then. Jon still maintained that the effigy was not quite right. His eyes were too cold, but stone and clay could never truly capture his father's essence. Sometimes, he wanted to say things he had been too afraid to say to him before, but the words never managed to escape the confines of his mind. Despite his experience when he died and the nothingness of it all, the idea his father would hear his inner thoughts and judge him for them was too much of a risk. His gaze lingered on the man for a moment, studying the plains of his face and the slope of his shoulders, memories of proud smiles running through his head. He placed an ironwood whetstone in the offering bowl and set it alight. He paused before him for a moment more. He could swear he could hear stone on metal and smell oil intermingling with the scent of winter roses and wax.

He bypassed Robb for the moment and paused in front of Rickon. He was one of the younger of the effigies. Usually, it was only acting lords or kings that warranted engravings, but Jon couldn't imagine doing anything else for the brother he had failed to save. He put the carving of a unicorn he had whittled for him in the bowl. Rickon had always been fascinated with them as a child and would spend hours chattering about going to Skagos to hunt after them.

He went back to Robb. His statue was not quite right either. It couldn't capture the twinkle in his eyes, the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way snow would melt in his curly auburn hair. The effigy portrayed him as the king he was in his later years: broad chest covered in armor, a crown on his head, a sword in his hand, Grey Wind at his side, sitting almost as tall as Robb. Lady Walda Frey, the new head of House Frey after their male line was unceremoniously killed, had sent the remains of Robb and his wife as a peace offering. A part of Jon did not care one way or another for the olive branch. Lady Walda was a part of the family that killed his, but on the other hand Sansa cautioned graciousness. If they played their cards right, she said, they could reform Robb's kingdom completely, and his kingdom included the Riverlands.

_'Cersei certainly won't have the Riverlands’ best interests at heart. Lannister men still terrorize the smallfolk there, they would be better off pledging themselves to us. And it would mean more support against the Night King. The Tullys are still family, if Uncle Edmure is smart, he will come to us and not go to Cersei. The Freys can be dealt with after that.'_

With her advice in mind, he accepted Lady Walda’s olive branch and in exchange sent whatever Maester Wolkan had left of Walda Bolton’s remains along with her infant child’s to her maiden family to do with as they pleased. There wasn’t much left that Ramsay’s hounds hadn’t devoured, but the maester had set her bones aside, meaning to send them to the Dreadfort to be buried with some form of honor.

Robb's bones were mixed together with Grey Wind's. According to Lady Walda, her maester couldn’t separate them, he couldn't tell the difference between them after so long a time. Robb and Grey Wind's bones, along with Queen Talisa's, were blessed and prayed over before being place inside the base of Robb’s resting place.

He pulled out the carving he made of a wolf, along with a silk scarf for his wife and a letter he had written to him. He set them on fire with the candle before blowing it out just before the wax began dripping onto his fingers. He knelt down properly and bowed his head to pray to the Old Gods that his family found peace in the afterlife and his living family might find peace in this life someday when spring came again. He stood up after a quiet moment and looked back up at his brother.

"Hey Robb. I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while. It's busy upstairs and I haven't had the time. I know, excuses, you must've been so terribly bored down here without me. Sansa is alright, as much as she ever is. You know her, she was cagey even back then. Getting the truth of anything that’s wrong with her at any given time is like pulling teeth. I still feel like any day Bran or Arya will come through the gates and I feel a weight in my gut whenever a day goes by and they don't. But I still have faith. Maybe that's stupid, all things considered. You Starks certainly have a penchant for putting yourselves in danger, not that I have much room to talk, yes I know. I was thinking the other day, well most every day, what you would do if you were alive. I'm probably making so many mistakes that you never would've done. I don't know if I'm living up to your legacy the way I should be, the way you deserve. Sansa says I'm putting undue pressure on myself but, I don't know. I just want—" Jon trailed off as he heard a shuffling coming from his left, footsteps approaching him. He briefly wondered if it was Sansa but she was usually making her rounds of the castle at this time, she shouldn't be in the crypts and the steps did not sound like her, they were heavier and yet light. He narrowed his eyes as Baelish came into view.

"Your Grace, you are a hard man to find." Baelish commented, giving a small bow as he approached him.

 _‘Because you of all people weren't meant to find me,’_ Jon wanted to say but held it back.

"What are you doing here? This is my family's crypts." Jon said in lieu of a greeting.

"I have a matter of great import to talk to you about."

"Not now." Jon replied dismissively, turning slightly from the man and back towards Robb's effigy.

"I'm afraid I must insist. It involves your sister actually." Jon turned back slightly towards the man, waiting for him to continue.

"The current alliance between the North and the Vale has been proving to be most beneficial for you and the North. The Vale turned the tide of the Battle for Winterfell and we are bolstering your numbers for your war to the North."

"It's not my war, it's everyone's. The Night King will attack and kill indiscriminately." Baelish gave that slimy smirk he usually did before answering.

"Of course, but the point is the Vale is making up the bulk of the force. I'm sure you can see where that could lead to problems."

"I haven't had any brought to my attention thus far, actually."

"Because Lady Sansa has been doing her best to treat with my more vocal lords, but the general consensus is that there needs to be an exchange, or a binding agreement, to greater balance our alliance."

"What sort of an exchange?"

"Marriage would be the best and most binding contract that could be made." Jon glanced away at that. He knew that as king he needed to marry, but whenever he thought about it, marrying some stranger for political purposes (some lady adorned in the finest silks from Tra-lala-lala-lee-day), Ygritte's teasing face formed in his head with perfect clarity. Bronze Yohn Royce took many an opportunity to mention his daughter, Ysilla, in conversation and Lord Wyman had done the same with his granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. Jon hadn't made any decision yet, pushing it back for after the war. Sansa had made suggestions about who she felt were the best candidates for him but didn’t push him like she had with other things, like how he chose to deal with Karstarks and the Umber.

"I'm not focused on marriage at the moment. The North doesn't need a queen, it needs a sustainable battle strategy and a fighting force if we'll ever survive the Night King." Baelish stared at him for a moment, his face frozen and Jon wondered what was wrong with him.

"I didn't mean you, Your Grace. Lady Sansa is well known in the Vale and her cousin, Lord Robin, is eager for her safety. She would be most welcome in the Vale." Jon scowled in return.

"You want Sansa to marry Robin Arryn?" Baelish stared at him again for a long moment and it finally clicked.

"You want Sansa to marry _you_."

"I think it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. I care deeply for Lady Sansa, I spent years protecting her and I would only endeavor to do that all the more if she were my lady wife." Jon wanted to laugh in this weasel of a man's face for implying what he did to Sansa was for her protection and not for his own gain.

"Did you put this proposal before Sansa? I'm sure you realize that after what has happened to her, I won't be making any such arrangements without her knowledge or approval."

"I did talk to her about it, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She said that she could not give me an answer now, that she must think on it. I thought that if our union had the support of her beloved brother and our noble king that that could only serve to strengthen the foundation of our alliance. Your lady sister is a rare woman. A testament to strength and resilience, any man in the world would be lucky to have her. I would be the luckiest to have the honor. Truth be told, I love your sister, just as I did her mother." Jon wanted to lash out, haul the man against the wall and squeeze the life out of him. Davos had been cautioning him against anger lately, infusing him with advice to respond to tests and challenges with a more level-headed approach and a calm and assertive demeanor. He was a king now, he could not act like the sensitive bastard boy he was years ago. He stared at the older man, gauging his seriousness. Jon wondered what Sansa had been feeling inside when Baelish came to her with this proposal of his, wondered what exactly she said as he formulated his own answer.

"There is a room in the main keep. It's in the same wing as the library, third door on the left of the second hallway. It was burnt during the Ironborn attacks, but it wasn't as damaged as other places. Have you ever been there?" Baelish looked momentarily confused at the change of subject before rousing himself and putting on a mask of interest.

"No, I can't say that I have."

"Sansa used to love that room as a child. It was her favorite room in the whole keep. Even with a castle this big, when you have a family as large as we did with as many servants as we did, it can get loud and hectic, crowded. Sansa and Arya were constantly going at each other, and Sansa had these friends, Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole, that would hang off her like jewels from a necklace, always latched onto her side. But that room, no one ever went there. It was small, probably meant for storage, but was unused and so abandoned. It became hers. I would pass by and see her there reading, playing with her dolls, sewing or singing. Sometimes she would even invite me to stay with her, probably because I was quiet. That was the point. The room was isolated, she could know peace there. When we got Winterfell back, it was one of the first rooms I made sure was renovated and refurbished. I wanted her to have a space for herself again. She hasn't been in there since we've been back, she doesn't even glance in its direction. It's like it doesn't exist. At first I thought, maybe it's just that she's grown up and such a place has lost its usefulness but she did carve a space like that for herself anyway. So why abandon that room? Do you know why that is?"

"No, I don't." Baelish admitted, that smirk still plastered on his face.

"No, you wouldn't know, would you?” Jon reiterated with a humorless smile.

“She can’t know peace in that room, not because there is anything physically wrong with the room, not because it reminds her of our father or our brothers or her mother, not because it makes her think about our childhood and the friends that she lost, but because it reminds her of Ramsay and what he did to her in that room. Who knows how he knew it was special to her? Maybe he tortured it out of Greyjoy or one of the servants, but he specifically chose to hurt her in that room because he knew it would scar her mentally as well as physically. Being in that room again would just bring back everything he did to her, everything you allowed him to do to her." Baelish's eyes widened minutely at that.

"Your Grace—"

"You say you protected my sister, and yet she wound up in the hands of a monster even greater than the ones you "rescued" her from. You sold my sister off like cattle so you could play your little games, thinking, what? One day, after you deemed she suffered enough, you would swoop in and rescue her and she would be even more in your debt? Do you honestly think that I would use my relationship with Sansa or my title to try to force her to be saddled with you for the rest of her life? After you threw her to the son of the man who shoved a dagger into our brother's heart, only for her to be raped and beaten and tortured. For you to come—"

"Your Grace, please—"

"I wasn't finished. For you to come to me, asking me to send my sister off to the Vale with you and actually expect me to agree is the most laughable thing I've heard in years. I may not be the politician you or Sansa are, but I know I can get the loyalty of the Vale lords without you. Between Sansa and I, we wouldn't need you so don't forget your place. You are a guest here by the invitation and good will of my sister, but don’t push your luck. You’re a Southerner, you're not made for this weather. You wouldn't last very long cast out into it. If you want to keep your place at our hearth, don't ever come to me with something like this again. Don't ever disrespect Sansa with something like this again. And you will never be alone with my sister again, I'll make sure of that. Now leave, this is my family’s last resting place and you don't belong here."

Lord Baelish's smile was gone. There was a glint in his eye, one Jon didn't like, but if the man was foolish enough to try his Southern games here in the North, Jon would let him fall through the thin ice he was walking on and let the waters drown him. He hoped he would give him a reason to get rid of him. He loathed the man more than he ever thought he was capable of.

Baelish gave him a small bow before leaving the crypts. Jon listened for his footsteps fading away to be sure the man was gone before he rolled his eyes, his peace effectively snatched away thanks to the encounter.

“You shouldn’t have been so harsh with him.” He heard Sansa say after a moment, making her way into view with a slight look of disapproval on her face.

“You shouldn’t be so lenient with him. He expects more than he has any right to.”

“He has spent the last few years consolidating power and influence, he is not used to having so few willing ears to whisper in. He may not have as much of a foothold here but he is still dangerous, you shouldn’t underestimate him.” Sansa advised, stopping next to him.

“You want to marry Baelish then?” He asked. Her mask of coolness broke slightly as she gave him a look that was all the answer he needed. Her coolness gave way to some worry.

“I didn’t expect him to ask so soon but I knew he would eventually. Winter is here and he’s getting impatient. You’re a piece he’s still assessing how to use and Cersei, as much as he believes he knows her, I don’t think even he saw her stunt with the Great Sept coming. Westeros is ripe for the taking, everyone is terrified of Cersei and we’ve a war with a figure just as terrifying coming. The continent could be on the brink of collapse. Littlefinger would make sure he’s there to take over whatever was left just so he could have a crown on his head. We need him gone before he destroys anything else. I’m still gathering the evidence we need for a formal trial. I will lead him along for as long as I need to until I’m ready. Do your best not to kill him in the meanwhile, please.”

“I can make no promises. It took all my willpower not to choke him, I may not manage it next time.” Sansa gave him another look before glancing at Robb and bowing her head to pray for the smallest of moments. She had disavowed religion almost entirely but the Old Gods managed to get her prayers every now and again.

“Come on. There are messages waiting for you in your solar. One has the Lannister sigil and the other the Targaryen one. We’ve other enemies to contend with besides Littlefinger.” Sansa walked ahead of him out of the crypts and Jon followed after a moment, rolling his shoulders back and readying himself to put on the face of a king once more.

**Author's Note:**

> It might've showed at the end, but I also wanted to relay that Sansa did have a plan where Baelish was concerned all along because the show insulted both she and Arya's intelligence in season 7.


End file.
